


Behavioral Observation in "Pteropus Belua" Patriarch Figure and Coinciding Acceptance in Offspring

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Bat Monster, But llike it's cool, Everything's ok, Exophilia, Gen, Kidnapping, Xenoanthropologist Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: You accidently tumble into the territory of a Pteropus Belua, an extremely volatile species of bat monster. Worst yet, after rescuing a pup from a landslide, you might be mistaken for a threat.
Relationships: Bat Monster/Reader, Monster/Reader, bat monster/human
Comments: 5
Kudos: 178





	Behavioral Observation in "Pteropus Belua" Patriarch Figure and Coinciding Acceptance in Offspring

The forest is dense, humid, but as you wipe some sticky sweat off your forehead, you trudge on. Humidity is thick in the air, you might as well be swimming, and the scent of a close thunderstorm fills your lungs with sharp, almost acidic air. You’re not lost, you’re _not,_ you just are a bit turned around, and once you manage to find the path again, you’ll be _fine._ An ominous crack echoes in the distance, though not close enough to be of worry. Yet.

Nervously, you try to refresh your phone again, hoping to get some kind of ping from a faraway cell tower, but the bars still read none. You bite your lip down, _hard,_ and try to keep yourself calm. Panicking in this situation isn’t going to get you anyway, so you put your phone back into your pocket and trudge on, trying to listen for any of the other members of the field team you belong to.

Mumbling curse words under your breath, you cross your arms and decide that maybe wandering is going to exacerbate the problem. Staying put doesn’t exactly appeal to you, either, but being at rest might help rescuers find you if the research team can’t? You don’t know, but there was that rule of thumb adults would always tell you as a child- if you get lost, you sit down and wait for someone to find you if there aren’t any police officers or rangers who know where you are.

You don’t think you have that kind of luxury, so you force your way further into the woods, listening for any signs of civilization. Still, your ears yield nothing more than the tree branches cracking against each other in the wind, or the sudden cease of bugs chirping from their places in the bark and grass. An ominous burst of thunder rolls through the sky, and the wind picks up. Fuck, _fuck._

Carefully, you try to remember what to do if you’re trapped outside during a thunderstorm, certain that a younger you had read something in those oddly morbid fun fact books. _Stay away from trees,_ you recall, staring at a long cliff face that you don’t think looks familiar, but might end up saving your life nonetheless. There are very little trees surrounding it, and, _and,_ you might be able to find a large, misshapen rock to hide under while this whole damn thing blows over. Rocks are safe, right?

Something wet splatters onto your hand. Then atop your head. Biting your lip down, you step out further towards the cliff, the large, jutting rock protruding from the earth in swathes of different stone, each telling a story of how the forest developed over millions upon millions of years. There is an acidic bite in the air, sharpening with every moment, the humidity spiking high enough to the point where your entire body feels oddly sticky. So, on top of the sinking sun, you’re also stuck with a rainstorm? Wonderful, brilliant, show-stopping, spectacular.

As you approach the side of the cliff, you take a moment to breathe, the rain not quite thundering down yet, but enough to make you nervous. The cliff is slightly sloped, with patches of dirt and a few desperate plants clinging to what grooves and textures they can. Steadily, the rain begins to pick up, and while you’re looking for some kind of cave or crack you might be able to duck into, you notice with no small amount of unease that there’s a few trickles of sludgy mud trailing down the stone. Those trickles quickly pick up more momentum. You have barely time to process that you’re about to witness an avalanche of dust, sticks, and rock, but also that there’s something right at ground zero for where the quickly accelerating blob it seems to be heading.

There’s… an animal? A kid? You can’t tell from this distance, but the head of dark brown hair that falls past their waist makes you think it’s a child. _Whatever,_ your brain doesn’t even have time to process the odd coloring of its arms, because there’s a tumbling cascade of dirt and stones heading right towards them. All big sisterly instincts kick in, and you almost trip on yourself running forward, full sprint, grabbing at the kid’s shoulders and _yanking_ forward until both of you are out of harm’s way.

The telltale crackling of dirt and rock hit the trees and bushes right where this kid had been, not moments before, and when you turn around to see what you had managed to avoid, it looks like god himself had taken the palm of his hand and _smushed_ down the area where the rockslide had been. The kid begins squirming, so you gently set them down as you take in stock what might have easily killed them.

“Oh, fu-uuuudge,” you awkwardly stop yourself from cussing, turning back to the kid, finding… not, like a human child. Lots of hair. Maybe a werewolf? Voice shaking while you brush a bit of dust from their shoulder, you ask, “um, where are your parents?”

There’s a _thump_ behind you, you can feel a burst of air against your back, every single hair on your neck standing on end. Wordlessly, the kid points to some point over your head, and you let out a soft breath. Alright. Okay. You’re _fine._ Slowly, you turn around, having to crane your neck up _very_ high in order to make eye contact, a small, pinching bit of fear dropping into your stomach and poisoning your lungs.

“Hi.” You say, almost shyly but more from fear. “You must be the dad.”

There’s a low rumbling coming from his throat, you feel the dangerous energy emanating from him, the rust-colored fur bristling out from his head, as though about to strike. Swallowing thickly, you turn back to the kid, seeing them scramble up onto her father’s shoulders with minimal effort and maximum efficiency.

After taking stock of the situation, you realize that you may be killed for stumbling into the territory of a large, possessive, and wildly aggressive species of Pteropus Belua. You swallow thickly, knowing that your chances of surviving such a rare encounter are disturbingly low, but maybe if you make yourself completely small and harmless, you might be allied to live.

“I’m lost,” you try to clarify, “I don’t know how to get back, I’d really appreciate it if you-”

There’s a toggle of movement, your vision shaking so wildly that you need a moment with your eyes closed, though you wish you didn’t open them when you do. Even though you could have _sworn_ that it has only been a second from when you were grabbed, you’re so far from the ground itself that if you fell, you would die. Trying your best to control your breathing with the wind in your face, you do your best to get your bearings.

The Pteropus Belua has you in his claws, one of the sharpened talons uncomfortably close to digging into your pants and skin. Everything in your body freezes, then goes at a hundred miles per hour all at once, your heart hammering so hard you fear it may burst, your breathing accelerating until your vision spots out around the edges. And simultaneous eternity and millisecond passes until you’re unceremoniously dumped on unsteady stone, your very essence almost knocked clean out of your body.

You get on your knees, trying to ignore the blossoms of pain fizzling through your legs, trying to catch your breath as you look up at your captor. His wings spanned out, he’s terrifyingly _large,_ and with a _woosh,_ he’s flying again. You duck out of instinct, afraid, he might decide to finish the job of killing you, but he only swoops out of the mouth of the cave, just as another rumble of thunder rolls across the sky.

As carefully as you can manage, you go out to the very edge of the cavern and look over the edge, chest thick with despair. Trees sprawl out for miles upon miles, you must have _really_ gotten yourself lost there, the bright green leaves whipping in time with the steadily rising wind. There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to get down there, no ledges to grip, no branches to grab, and you don’t even have to question whether you’d be able to survive the fall. You know you wouldn’t.

A flash of lightning weaves its way through the sky; you’re so surprised by the sudden light that you fall on your butt and scramble away from the opening, which seems to amuse the little bat pup because a wave of giggles overtakes… wait, you squint into the darkness, finding a second shape moving against the dark. Two pups. There are _two,_ and you aren’t sure in this lack of lighting if they are similar in age or not. Biting down on your lip, you take in a deep breath and try to turn off the panicking sirens still rioting in your head.

You don’t get mad at their amusement, it’s probably fair because you _must_ seem absolutely insane to them. So you take a deep breath, remind yourself that you’re a _scientist,_ and try to approach them. You barely know this region’s dialect enough to order food from a rackety old stand in the street. That’s also under the assumption that they even understand and follow the same dialect rules as their human counterparts. Taking in a deep breath, trying to put on your best foot forward, you try to approach them, but they are quick to skitter back into the darkness. Understandable, really, so you fall back onto plan B.

The cave floor is covered with layers of dust and dirt, the evidence of which shows in brief moments when lightning jitters across the sky. Settling criss-cross applesauce, you turn around to face the mouth of the cave to watch the heavens open up and unleash a violent torrent of rain, so dense and thick it may as well be a waterfall. And you wait, making sure to tuck your day backpack under your chin so they won’t be able to steal anything valuable. It doesn’t take nearly as long as you thought it would for one of them to be overcome with curiosity, you can hear the skittering of juvenile claws against stone slowly approaching.

One of them touches your hair, the color, growth pattern, and shape probably alien to their kind. You let the pup run their hands through your scalp, completely silent, pretending that you don’t even notice their close proximity. After a few more minutes, your patience pays off when the second pup comes up to investigate, most likely spurred on by how still and quiet you are with their sibling.

It couldn’t have been ten minutes of rain before the father returns, the smell of wet fur almost strong enough to make you gag. You don’t even notice his approach through the torrent, either, but his children seemed to have sensed his presence and crept away from the entrance, as though ashamed to be caught anywhere near you. Silently, you watch him, stoic in his stance, as he eyes you with such vivid suspicion you do wonder if you are some kind of poacher and you’ve simply forgotten all of your past.

He throws something, it’s sudden, and you duck because you’re confident that whatever object it is will hit your head, but there’s a loud _splat,_ with another strike of lightning you can see a large, brightly colored melon shattered against the ground. The children are quick to descend on the chunks of fruit, clicking and shrieking with delight, grabbing onto pieces and shoving them into their mouths. You watch, unsure of what to do, shrinking back to the wall and wishing you could just be let out.

Careful to keep your grip on your backpack tight, you wonder how many more days you can survive on your granola bars, and hope that the bat patriarch doesn’t keep you for longer. Or maybe you’re trapped here forever. The jury’s still out on that one. Biting your lip down, close your eyes and try to remember how many granola bars or jerky strips you might have left without actually going through your bag since you don’t want to bring any more attention to yourself.

You know you’ll run out of food if you’re only expected to eat what you have, but you aren’t very sure if you are allowed to share the fruit. Even if you want to, that is, because by now it’s more dust and rind than anything else and there’s fur sticking to the juicier parts. Holding back a gag, you reach into your pocket, recheck your phone, finding no bars, and a low battery.

Of course, you spend the rest of the dawn and following day completely awake and entirely uncomfortable, because the family’s patriarch isn’t keen on releasing you. He and his two pups sleep at the other end of the cavern, too deep for you to dare venture because you’re a bit too cautious about leaving the mouth of the cave. When they wake up, you’re exhausted but still running on the adrenaline fumes that kept your heart pumping throughout the day and night.

And, of course, when the patriarch approaches the entrance when dusk begins, you ask him if you could leave.

He roars so loudly, you almost start crying.

So that’s that, then.

Letting in a deep breath as he leaves, you take a look at your phone once more to check for a signal, finding a whole lot of nothing. Fighting a feeling of hopelessness, you try to take some deep, meditative breaths and then turn around to see both pups watching you curiously. You suppose that if one of your guardians had haphazardly shoved someone into their home and then screamed at them right in front of you as a child, that would be… interesting, to say the least. You wonder what they make of all this.

“Hey,” you say, thinking that maybe you can learn a thing or two from them, just by being in their presence. Perhaps you can fill your notebook full of information, behavior, detailed appearances, diets, and such, seal it away in your backpack and toss that as far as you can before you’re disposed of. A rescue mission might find it before your body, and they’ll at least have the information to further understand the creatures. “Do you have names?”

They stare at you blankly, so close they’re basically climbing over each other. Of course, they wouldn’t understand you, but you did think to give it a shot if nothing else.

Letting out a little sigh, you scoot forward, placing a hand on your chest, saying your name in a calm, drawn-out matter, letting each letter roll on your tongue as crisp and broad as you can pronounce them. You do it once more, quickly, then gesture at the larger of the two, even though they’re almost the same size. The pup looks at your hand, then at you, but still has a puzzled, yet still curious stare.

Again, you try, saying your name carefully enough that you hope they would comprehend, then gesture to the younger one. The oldest seems to understand the gist now, placing a hand on their chest’s tawny fur… except instead of a different name, they mimic _yours,_ drawing out the syllables just as you had, though in a far more clumsy manner. Internally, you scream, but you know what? Actual interactions outside of skittish fear will be considered progress.

After taking a breath, you give them both an encouraging smile, then try again. Gesture to yourself, say your name. Now you pick up a rock, and tell them what it is, using the same hand gesture. Next, you pry your water bottle out from its place in your backpack and do the same. _Now,_ when you gesture to the pups, they seem to have a better understanding of what you’re trying to go for, and comply.

“Tuyên,” the oldest says when you gesture.

“Mai,” the youngest pipes up loudly before you even have a chance to look over.

You smile, full and victorious, and echo their names, allowing them to correct you when you stumble over the pronunciation. _Tuyên and Mai,_ this is far beyond what most xeno-anthropologists manage to get, and you try to find some comfort in that. Whipping out your notebook, you scribble down their names as you’ve heard them phonetically, letting them look at the pen’s swooping ink against the paper. Then, just to make them more interested, you do two quick little doodles in their likeness.

And they are positively _enthralled_ with their artistic representations, so you tear a bit of the precious paper away and let them have it. Like most siblings might, they fight over whoever gets to hold it, scrabbling around in the cavern. Their names… sound to you like they’re feminine, according to the neighboring human dialects. Not that you’re the leading expert or anything, but the name _Mai_ is commonly a girl’s name, so maybe that one’s a daughter?

You let out a tired breath, wrap your hands around your chest, and watch as the two of them tussle for a moment and then call for them. Sheepishly at the idea of making such a scene, the youngest approaches with the paper, holding it close to their fur. Taking it back, you rip the thing down the middle, splitting the two doodles away from each other and creating their own pictures. Then you hand it back again, and the two pups are even more amused now.

After a few minutes of silently admiring their own respective drawing, they begin… playing with them, not unlike paper dolls kids might have played with barely a century ago. It gives you an idea because you don’t _see_ anything that might be used as toys, but maybe making one might give you a better little look into their behavior and psychology.

There isn’t much to work with, the cave is very bare, and you didn’t tromp into the forest expecting to be kidnapped. But still, with the scraggly plants managing to grow where the sunlight hits, an old scarf that you care nothing about, some twine, and a permanent marker, you make do. Within a few minutes and using up your phone’s battery with the flashlight on so you can actually see, you have two extremely rudimentary but workable dolls. You give out a low whistle to get the two pup’s attention, hiding them behind your back.

They come clambering, you suppose that you’re still new and exciting enough to be listened to. You briefly wonder if there’s some kind of activity or thing you can get them to do for you in return for the dolls, but decide ultimately that you might as well just give it to them. True to your hypothesis that all children just want to play, they are absolutely just _flabbergasted_ by the dolls. They hold them up to the light, they look them over and find the sketchy faces you doodled onto the fabric. It only takes a few moments of admiration before they go crazy with them, coming up with some kind of game that involves flying.

As they play, you try to gauge their personalities, scribbling down the most basic, least worded notes so that your little book will last longer. You’ve already counted and double-checked the pages you have to work with, the number is shorter than you would have liked, but you suppose that you don’t have much time left, either. A part of you is entirely unsure of why you aren’t dead yet, but the other is just numb with relief that you have a few days left to try to make your mark on your field of study.

When the dad comes back in the early hours of the dawn, you’re quick to hide the notebook in your pack, opting instead to make yourself very, very small against the wall in the hopes he might just have forgotten you exist. Despite your efforts, though, he turns to glare at you once he takes the first few steps within the cave, his gaze almost murderous. If your backpack was anything more than a thin, small scrap of cloth holding a person’s basic needs for only 24 hours, you’d try to hide behind it, but you’re stuck clutching it to your chest as your forehead breaks out in a sweat.

The pups, though, and very quick to show him their makeshift dolls, scrambling over to where their father stands, almost tripping over each other to reach their destination first. Bouncing on the tips of their clawed toes, they jump up, Mai even flapping her smaller wings to get to her father’s face first. He’s holding another large bit of fruit, another melon, you note, and he has to carefully tuck it under his other arm to accommodate his overexcited pup.

It’s… kind of cute, you admit, though you’re still absolutely terrified of him. Though when he looks over at you again, you drop that thought and try to fade out from existence. After a few moments of speaking in that odd, chittering language you _think_ is somewhat similar to the local human dialect, the father breaks the melon over a stone, and the pups are eating once again. You can’t be certain, but you’re pretty sure that tonight’s meal is a tad bit more civilized than the one before.

Once finished eating, the youngest, Mai, walks over to you with a handful of the melon, putting it in your lap quickly and skittering back to where the rest of her family is. The chunks of fruit are sticky with hair, dirt, and a myriad of other things you aren’t keen on eating, but the pointed stare of the patriarch has you wasting some of your precious water to rinse everything off, twice over, then eating.

The melon itself isn’t so bad, but it’s teetering on the edge of being barely ripe enough to be thoroughly enjoyed. Still, though, it’s the first actual food outside of protein bars that you’ve had in one, maybe two days, so you try to ignore an odd crunch on the surface and swallow everything before you overthink things too much. At least, the patriarch seems satisfied with your acceptance of Mai’s offering and stops paying so much attention in your direction.

You must zone out for a few minutes, a bit chill with the morning’s dewy cold, bringing your knees as close as you can up to your chest because you don’t notice Mai’s approach until she’s suddenly tugging at the sleeve of your shirt. She, at least, seems to be the one warming up to you the most, and she’s holding her doll out in an attempt to communicate something.

“What?” You try to prompt, knowing that she won’t understand the word, but might process the verbal cue.

She’s holding her doll up, petting the side of its drooping head, and chitters something. You reach out to retake it, thinking maybe she might have damaged it somehow and wants a repair, but she retracts her hand slightly. Again, she holds it up, then her other hand, which is empty, like she’s weighing something. The gears in your head turn, trying to come up with a simple answer.

“Do you want another one?” You ask, knowing as soon as the words leave your mouth that she won’t even understand. Maybe you’re just thinking aloud.

Her head cocks to the side, and she reaches for your backpack. You almost jerk it back but know that sudden movements will be your last, so you slowly move it out of her reach. Impatiently, she huffs, moving out to the mouth of the cave and collecting bunches of the same dried-up plants you had used as the stuffing of the heads. Ah, you think you understand now.

When she returns, you already have the scarf out, tearing a square of fabric off with a small grunt. Instead of doing the whole thing by yourself, this time, you try to walk Mai through the steps of making her own. She sits criss-cross applesauce right in front of you, and you try to guide her hands around, so she’s more involved than only watching. While you do so, you take the time to observe her little clawed fingers’ dexterity, trying to commit the images to memory so you might be able to sketch it out later.

Mai’s the one who made the finishing touches, which was just drawing that face onto the fabric with your nifty permanent marker. Instead of your rudimentary smiley face, she also adds a primary nose, the same kind of slightly upturned nostrils that her species sports, her brow furrowing in concentration, tongue sticking out over her sharp little teeth. Once she finishes, she holds it out, looking over the newly made doll in the light, her face lit up with the most enormous grin you’ve seen thus far.

Without another word of acknowledgment in your direction, she bounces up to her toes, heading over to where her father sits, preoccupied with something else, and demands his attention in the same kind of way that most children do; tugging at his arm and almost shouting whatever she must want. When he begrudgingly turns to look, she holds up the doll, victoriously, and begins to explain to him _something,_ though you’re not sure if it’s the method of building or the doll’s supposed tragic backstory.

Leaving little room for any argument, Mai gives him the doll, almost forcefully, and only now does the patriarch look at you with an emotion other than _seeping hatred._ More like… resigned to his fate? Exasperated? As if he can’t believe that you would actively participate in making him one, but now he’s stuck with playing whatever radio drama his two pups have cooked up. You have to hide your smile behind your backpack because, despite the circumstances, it is kinda funny how such a large, foreboding creature is brought down to his knees by his own offspring.

You try to make a list of all the notes you plan on scribbling, unsure how the patriarch might react if he saw you writing anything down. After all, he seems to despise your kind, so you’re sure that if you exhibit any behaviors of observing and recording him and his pups, he might finally snap. So you pretend not to watch, but above all, you _listen._ The game seems to be… well, any basic game young children might play with their GI Joe’s and Barbies, that’s one of the many sorts of binding elements of sentient creatures.

When the sun is full in the sky, the pups are finally exhausted enough to settle down with their game, the patriarch finally… _approaches_ you, and you’re nearly about to just die from a heart attack when he plops himself down. Clutching your backpack like it might actually save you if he decides you strike, you push yourself up into the cave wall until you actually feel pain from the stone digging in various parts of your back. Careful to keep your breaths in a calm, collected manner, you don’t make eye contact in fear he might see it as a challenge.

Instead of ripping your throat out, he says, “you treat them well.”

There are a lot of things you have to process here because one; he can speak your language, something that means he must have been in contact with at least _one_ person like you before, and two; he spent enough time with them to actually learn the syntax in order to be as fluent as he seems. And also, the realization he’s understood everything you’ve said and still felt fit to terrorize you despite it.

You don’t even know how to respond, but luckily, it seems that the patriarch wasn’t done. “I didn’t think you would survive this long.”

That was… well, discouraging, and you try to shrink back further into the rock.

“But, you have been good with my pups.”

There’s a long pause, and you realize that it’s kind of your turn to talk. “Oh, um, yeah. Your kids are cute.”

That seems to be an unexpected answer because he is silent for a moment more. “They are,” he says, almost like he’s used to having to fiercely defend that statement and is unsure how to react to such absolute agreement.

“And a bit of a handful, but they’re kids, so…” you shrug, still trying not to act like you’re about to cry yourself into a hole in the ground, “being rambunctious is part of the process of growing.”

“Indeed it is,” he rumbles, eyes narrowing for just a moment, “so I suppose I’ll be letting you go.”

You almost faint, numb with relief. “Really?”

“You will never show your face in my territory again, or I _will_ end your life,” he says, calm, despite the threat.

“What?” You look over in the directions you know the pups are sleeping, mouth in a thin line. “I can’t even come back to visit?”

You think his face softens slightly, though he remains upright and stoic. “Your presence could lead to others, and that would endanger my family more than they’ve already been through. Your kind has already been scouring the forest for you, so it is best to go back to them.”

“Well, yes, but,” you take in a deep breath, “what it-”

“No.” His voice is resolved, absolute.

Again, you try to breathe, knowing that arguing in your favor might just do the opposite of what you want, so you say, shaking, “okay. Okay, okay. Being returned back would be awesome, thank you.”

He seems almost relieved, nodding at your acceptance. “I’m glad you understand.”

Since the pups are asleep, he takes you now, cradling you in his arms far more gently than when he brought you up. Instead of merely tossing you down in whatever part of the forest that he pleases, the patriarch takes you fairly close to where the village your research team had taken residency in- you don’t ask him how he knows, maybe it’s just the closest human settlement he knows, or maybe he’s well aware of what you’re here for.

He sets you down, gently, and you barely have time to thank him before he’s off in the sky, once more, wings flapping so strong the surrounding vegetation bends and quakes in the wind. You watch as he leaves, chewing at the bottom of your lip as he goes.

_“Jesus Christ!”_

You’re startled out of your thoughts, almost jumping out of your skin at the first human voice you’ve heard in a while. Arms crush you in a hug, and you can’t say that you know this particular person _well,_ but the human contact is not unwelcome. The scent of salty sweat and hardworking powdered deodorant fills your nostrils, the cotton of the person’s shirt soft against your nose as you close your eyes and try to focus on the moment.

“Where have you been?”

“Um,” you suddenly wonder if you’re going to be believed, and you’re even more unsure if you can say anything without risking the health of the pups. “Let’s… let’s go see the professor, I think she might want to hear this first.”


End file.
